Liam Neeson

This post isn't really about Liam Neeson. I'm leaving for Italy in a week and two days. Since being home from Madison, I have watched Taken twice. Currently, I am packing things in my suitcase in descending order of what would be most effective to bludgeon a potential Eastern European sex trafficker with.

now, a lovely poem.

"A thrush in the syringa sings.

‘Hunger ruffles my wings, fear,
lust, familiar things.

Death thrusts hard. My sons
by hawk’s beak, by stones,
trusting weak wings
by cat and weasel, die.

Thunder smothers the sky.
From a shaken bush I
list familiar things,
fear, hunger, lust.’

O gay thrush!"

Basil Bunting

my new obsession: obsessions

I don't know how well known she is, but after having seen her first video on perez a couple weeks ago I've been obsessed with the woman behind Marina and the Diamonds. Her name is Marina Diamandis, and she's a London-based singer/songwriter/diva extraordinaire. She's half Greek and half Welsh, which is officially the ethnic cocktail jackpot because she's gorgeous. The song of hers I first heard was the much more mass appealing pop song on her record dropping in February of 2010, The Family Jewels. It's called Hollywood, and it's a very tongue-in-cheek parody of the ridiculous and campy nature of American popular culture.

After further research, I realized her musical style gets way cooler. Marina reminds me of a kind of marriage between Lady Gaga's fashion aesthetic, Imogen Heap's deep voice, Shakira's kind of bipolar voice, and some other vocal quality making her completely unique. You can tell immediately how distinctive her voice is- it's almost a Tracey Chapman moment in which you are like "wait is this a tranny?". Marina also does weird pops in her singing voice reminiscent of Michael Jackson's trademark hiccup noise thing with a cool Welsh twist on it. And just when you are lulled into the velvety, sumptuous deepness of her voice Marina will surprise you by taking her vocals to a truly impressive and almost unbelievable soprano register.

Accompanying her awesome vocals are fresh composition and innovative, non-cliched lyrics. She has the ever-impressive ability to compact really big ideas into delectably concise statements, such as the apt "Hollywood" lyric, "I'm obsessed with the mess that's America". My clear favorite so far is her song called Obsessions (really cool song that strikes me as a comment on the insincerity of some relationships, relationships solely based on the indulgence of obsessions versus real mutual love, compatibility, etc, using a cool metaphor about crackers), but the close second is the delicious American campiness and 4th of July porn of the video for Hollywood. Also, her song I Am Not A Robot is pretty great. I clearly cannot get enough of her. Also clear at this point is the fact that I've just learned how to post a link in this blog. One small step for man!

Marina Diamandis is really kind of the full package- I find it hard these days to find solo female artists that don't piss me off in some way. I look forward to seeing her continue to make music and grow as an artist (I sound like a proud parent).

Moving on to more pressing issues- I've been bombarded by deep, conflicted, and philosophically revealing conversations concerning Tiger Woods. Obviously when I say I'm being bombarded I mean I'm purposely bringing it up with anyone in the three foot vicinity. I've been called out a couple of times on my point of view concerning Woods being horribly sexist (I'm okay with that). I do think, however, that Wood's indiscretions are an obnoxious flowering of the irrepressible seed of man's God Syndrome. Guys like Tiger, despite how humble their beginning are, after reaching a certain height of fame and wealth, are not satisfied with absolutely anything.

Really, nothing will do.

World: Oh Tiger, how about being arguably the most famous and highest paid contemporary athlete? Do you want to make $90 million a year from endorsements? Here's a Swedish supermodel!

Tiger: Sure! Thanks! I will take all that, while simultaneously covertly contradicting my humble, down to earth public image of a devoted family man by letting the power go straight to my head and refusing to deny myself any sort of instant gratification despite the latter urge involving horribly unsavory women and rampant terrible decision-making. Also, I will bank on the public never finding out to preserve said image/endorsements. Bye!

*three years, one wife, two kids, 89 billion dollars, and 90 million mistresses later*

Tiger: Fuck.

I'm counting down the days until he comes up with the perennial excuse that somehow for reasons that are beyond me garners sympathy from the public, that of "sex addiction". Last time I checked, Eric Benet/David Duchovny/Colin Farrell/Jude Law, that is called the "asshole disease", involving not a pathological need for intimacy resulting in unbridled promiscuity, but an inflated ego and inexhaustible ability to sleep with almost anything. I'm sure there is a legion of psychological professionals that disagree with me, and god knows they are way more informed and reliable than I am, but really, stop being a pansy and own up to the fact that you're kind of a douche bag. I think I'd respect that a lot more than a celebrity going to extremes to justify his behavior when everyone knows at least eight other guys who play that same game without needing try to excuse it. For instance, Charlie Sheen just plays it real and does him. Maybe it's my love of Two and a Half Men , but because he doesn't give a shit I can still stomach him. Also, Denise Richards is an undeniable psycho hose beast. Step one for guys would be just try not to make an ass out of yourself to begin with, but if you can't deny your inherent, insatiable desires, don't try to cry your way out of it.

I'm not trying to say that women at the top don't do anything immoral (re: Angelina Jolie's stealing of Brad Pitt, umireallycantthinkofanyoneelse,weird) but I really think men are like 84x more likely to do some stupid shit, just because they are bored enough to the point where nothing impresses or satisfies them and think they can get away with absolutely anything.

Oh Ali, you are so terribly sexist/biased/jaded/......................correct.

why i stay invested

Warning; there are some spoilers in here about the final twilight series plot points, but as I don't expect any twelve year old girls to be reading this, I'm going to go ahead and assume no one really cares. in fact, kudos to you if you can stomach this whole trip.

Despite the irrational and eternal love I harbor for the Twilight series, I am well aware that it is, in fact, horrible writing. Meyer drones on for more than 1500 pages in some of the least inspiring or creative prose that has ever managed to garner this much hype.. It does, however, have one of the most pathetically relatable female characters ever. Regardless of how that sounds, it turned out to be a marketing goldmine. Also, the plot is pretty damn creative (You might disagree-- until you've read the 4th book. You can't make this shit up. Well, Meyer did. Whatever, you know what I mean).

Meyer's Bella Swann is much, much, much different than Kristen Stewart's horribly misleading conception of Bella. Stewart, while succeeding in the realm of Bella's understated beauty and slight awkwardness, is missing my favorite part about Bella; her surprisingly enlightened introspection and ability to voice many concerns of women (of all ages) in a fairly cliched yet nonetheless resounding way.

The film representations are truly atrocious, hellacious, disappointing, etc. All Pattinson's Edward does is brood (I use the term loosely because Pattinson fails to really capture the art of externalizing the torment within without looking like he was just lobotomized) while looking alarmingly anemic, and the rest of the Cullen clan are acceptably one-dimensional. Carlisle is wise, Esme is warm (you can tell by her smile! wow! mom??), Rosalie is a bitch, Emmett is a gorilla ("my monkey man"), Alice is quirky (the haircut gives it away!), Jasper is hungry, the end. Nothing exciting there. The only character that is remotely complicated for the audience is Bella, and only in that we can't understand why she keeps stuttering and twitching. New Moon introduces Jacob, which is good eye candy fun. He's probably my favorite film character at this point (re: abs.)He would also qualify as a complicated character, but only because we can't understand why he likes Bella.

However, there is the redemption of the series in film of the glory that is Breaking Dawn. I for one cannot understand for the life of me how this ridiculous yet delicious plot will manage to be adapted to the screen. To successfully frame how truly ridiculous the last book is in relation to its preceding trilogy, I need to break down the events in a clear, dry, way.

Book One, Twilight: Bella meets soul mate Edward, differences in species complicate relationship, Bella gets bit, Edward blames himself, the prom.

Book Two, New Moon: Edward abandons Bella out of misguided shot at her salvation, Bella cozies up to childhood friend Jacob who is a werewolf, diabolical vampire Victoria tries to kill Bella, fails, Bella saves the suicidal Edward.

Book Three, Eclipse: Edward and Jacob both vie for Bella's love, Edward wins, Victoria dies, Bella and Edward get engaged. That's literally it.

Okay, are you ready for this? I don't think you are. I don't think the poor script writers are, I don't think the actors are, I don't think America is.

Book Four, Breaking Dawn: Edward and Bella get married,jet off to Cullen family Brazilian island, Edward and Bella have sex which ends in Bella's absolute bliss but also is apparently so rigorous that Bella is rendered unconscious and wakes with bruises which cover her entire body (plot point: do the roads of sexual satisfaction and mass blood clotting meet??), is impregnated with half-mortal half-vampire baby that is literally eating away at her and growing about four times as fast as a normal human child, Bella refuses to abort said halfsy fetus despite the fact that its breaking her ribs and eventually severs her spine, Edward wastes away watching Bella waste away, begs Jacob to impregnate her so her maternal instinct can be fulfilled, the human Bella begins drinking blood to satisfy whatever the hell is growing in her, during delivery Edward gives Bella a C-section with his teeth (!!!!), Jacob falls in love with the baby girl (um), Bella's daughter bites her mom's boob (wholly unnecessary), Edward quickly turns Bella into a vamp to save her life. Pause, breathe. Weird halfsy baby with weird halfsy name causes international vampire scandal, 80% of the world's vampires with largely unnecessary background stories end up in Forks for a huge showdown, Volturi appear, the day is saved because Bella's mind can conveniently protect a small principality.

If that isn't reason enough to stay invested in the series, I don't know what is. If Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson pull this off, bite my boob and call me Renesmee.

this is the final countdown

The countdowns have begun. The countdown to my last two papers’ due dates, to the last real weekend of the semester, to my two finals, to moving out of Madison, to the holidays, and to my semester trip to Italy. Being someone who loathes change, instead of breathless anticipation, at this moment I feel nothing but excruciating dread. I don’t want to study, much less write or actually take a test, I don’t want to pack, and I don’t want to do anything except spend time with the people I won’t see for 4-7 months.

As ever, I am astoundingly incapable of sorting out any priorities or emotions and instead feel one big great blizzard (pun intended, since the torrential onslaught of winter is hardly making me fondly recall the days of yore) of stress.

I know, I know I KNOW I should be pissing myself with excitement and really, in the back of my head I am.

Dear Santa,

I just wish I had a bit more time before I jet off to Europe. Just a bit more! Please?

-Ali

"O might I here/In solitude live savage" -John Milton, Paradise Lost

why do i feel the need to discuss this

I am mildly wary of every person obsessed with the film American Psycho, adapted from a novel written by Bret Easton Ellis, and the main character, the compulsively homocidal Patrick Bateman. Hopefully the attraction is more focused on the genius of actor Christian Bale, but one can never be too sure.

Something I find really ironic (although I hesitate to use this word due to its excessive overuse, something I contribute to Alanis Morissette, possibly her only fault known to date) is that Ellis received countless death threats and hate mail from people after the novel's publication. Really, do you want to be threatening the mind from whence Patrick Bateman came?

However, I do find Bateman as morbidly and viscerally alluring as the next person. I love the juxtaposition between his rigidly and meticulously maintained life of an 80's yuppie and his nightlife involving surprise axes to the faces of his guests, nailguns, and falling chainsaws. There's also something terrifyingly confrontational about a person who so unapologetically admits their lack of any shred of humanity. In fact, the only thing he expresses any fondness for (aside from his bloodlust) is Huey Lewis & The News and Whitney Houston. But even that fondness might be some extravagant ruse that Bateman seems to keep up even if he's not about to kill someone.

Aside from these little gems, the film itself is horribly misogynistic to what feels like a sardonic extent, but as with the film in general, I couldn't be sure of what was really being said.

Other things bothering me currently:
-tiger woods
-the state of new york
-my four page italian paper

The Inexhaustible Genius of Lady Gaga

I struggle to put into words just how revolutionary, inspired, and original I find Lady Gaga. Her performance at the VMA's was the first time I was completely floored by her ingenuity and beauty and she has somehow outdone herself with her new video for Bad Romance. Not only is her music, at its core, incredibly gorgeous, original, and versatile, but her aesthetic with respect to her clothing and music videos is absolutely breathtaking.

Many people "don't get" Lady Gaga. Many reactions to her visceral VMA's performance I've heard have been along the lines of "that was really weird", or "i don't get her. why all the blood...?". My first response to comments like these are "it's not weird, it's genius, and you don't get it because for some tragic reason you are oblivious to the depth of the immediacy of abstract art and humanity she reaches on a daily basis".

Most people's initial reaction to the Lady is that she must be on tons of drugs. While I'm not quite naive enough to completely exonerate her from dabbling, I do think it's completely possible that she's not on any mood or reality-altering illegal substances. Why does someone have to be on drugs to come up with some of the things she does in terms of fashion and performance aesthetic? Could these thoughts not dawn on her when she's dead sober? Perhaps when the rest of the world was growing up and figuring out how to fit in, she was figuring out how to look more like Boy George and David Bowie. At least, that's what I like to think. Is everyone supposed to be Taylor Swift? I hope not.

I think Lady Gaga's music, lyrics, fashion, and general art aesthetic speak to the darkest and most twisted complications of human emotions that is all at once astounding, abstract, and accessible. Some find her aesthetic alienating, I find it freeing from every kind of suffocating convention of modern conceptions of music, fame, and fashion.

namesake

I create this blog in anticipation of next semester which will feature me cavorting about Europe. This has yet to really sink in and I go around saying "i'm going to florence next semester" in the same way that most people say "i think i'll have a nap". having never been to Europe, it still seems unreal. Ironically, I recently realized that by the end of this semester I will have earned a European Studies certificate. My college education has become so passive that I am literally unknowingly attaining minors in addition to my focus in English (which I also tend to forget about sometimes).

will someone explain to me the appeal of bangs that are between 1/2 and 2 inches long? Why? Among others, these thoughts plague me. Attached is the namesake of this blog, an excerpt from a really great American Indian narrative novel written by Minnesota's own Louise Erdrich.


" 'You lie,' she said. 'You're cold. There is a wicked ice forming in your blood. You don't have a shred of devotion for God. Only wild cold dark lust. I know it. I know how you feel. I see the beast... the beast watches me out of your eyes sometimes. Cold.' " -Love Medicine, Louise Erdrich